Dear Nobody
by chichirichick
Summary: 1x33x1... Trowa is writing letters to no one, thinking it will stay that way.


_Dear Nobody –_

_            It's only been a short while since the war stopped, since the war stopped, since the fighting stopped, since the use for us stopped.  Since all uses for my existence stopped._

_            Quatre had easily gotten over the thought of war.  His sister took him in and got him back on the "road to recovery" that I suppose all of us have been trying to get on.  Duo's moved on, begging on Hilde's heels.  It's funny to see the "God of Death" lose to love.  Wu Fei's disappeared without word, but seems to surface now and then with Sally at his side._

_            The infamous wing pilot, Heero Yuy, has yet to appear though.  Should it be a surprise?  Some said that he was staying with Relena… of which I found was untrue.  It was just like me to go looking for him, even though I know he does not want to be found.  Who, in his state, would want to?_

_            Cathy pesters me daily about my "black mood."  I have all rights to act so, knowing that every morning I wake without some purpose to life, without any reason to live.  **Each day I look in that mirror and see a person void of a name, a character, a soul.  What am I?  Nothing but a doll.**_

_                        - Nobody_

_--_

_Dear Nobody –_

_            Heero appeared from nowhere today.  Apparently, it was not nowhere.  I had been on my regular visit with Quatre (the one that he practically makes mandatory for those of us still in touch) and he happened to nonchalantly walk into the parlor where we were seated._

_            He wasn't happy to see me in the least, and he made that perfectly apparent.  His eyes practically bore through me, and I could feel my safe, deceiving "mask" slipping off my face.  Before either of us said a thing, he shot some kind of look at Quatre and exited the room quickly._

_            Heero still had that dark brooding look on his face.  I could guess that he had not slept for days, if not weeks.  I wonder what it is that keeps him awake now… no more missions, no more wars, except for maybe the ones that he fights within himself._

_            **I wonder… if he feels the same way as I do.**  About the needlessness that is.  That first sentence was too ambiguous.  I do not feel any way about Heero.  Do I._

- _Nobody_

_--_

_Dear Nobody –_

_            His face won't leave my mind.  I could interpret his eyes in a million ways._

_            I want to say it was simply "I hate you, Trowa Barton," so that there would be no reason to –be-.  Because there isn't.  Why am I still breathing?  All for the memory of Heero Yuy's face.  As if any of that matters anyway.  I can write it, over and over, inventing new words with which to do so, but when it comes down to saying it, my throat becomes complete and utter cement._

_            **Why are feelings so hard?**_

- _Nobody_

_--_

_Dear Nobody – _

_            I wonder why, why this?_

_            I received an odd letter from him today:_

_            **"There's no use for a useless weapon.**_

- **_Heero Yuy"_**

_What use are either of us anymore?  Wu Fei is a preventer, Duo needs to be a good father (I did not mention Hilde's pregnancy), and Quatre needs to be there to take control as the heir of the Winner family.  Me?  Nothing.  Heero?  He has all the use in the world if he just opened his eyes.  He's intelligent, swift, handsome… he is so many things._

_            And all I do is mope.  I live just to hate life, and to **love**…_

- _Nobody_

_--_

_Dear Nobody –_

_            **What is love?**_

_            I asked Quatre today, receiving a puzzled expression and a long lecture.  It all ended with, "Who do you love, Trowa?"_

_            I was void of an answer, ignored the question and came back here._

_            Why answer?  I would not tell anyone, except for maybe this.**  I love Heero**.  It's even hard to write.  Is it true?  Feelings… they lie to even the person feeling them.  But I don't have feelings, so this must be love.  He causes me to feel.  Forces me to live.  Though he has no idea._

_            - Nobody_

--

            Heero looked out of the rainy window.  It dripped down the glass like tears… tears he would never see nor feel… his own never-existing tears.  His attention turned to a dark figure walking up the way to his house.  A knock at the door.

            He ignored it completely, not wishing to move from his rainy spot.  Whoever it was left eventually, leaving a small package on the doorstep.  "Strange," he said to no on in particular.

            Slowly he bothered to stumble over to the door, his leg feeling stiff from sitting on it for so long.  He cocked open the door just enough to reach for the package.  He pulled the soaked object into the room, looking at the address labels carefully.

            "No return address."  He sat at the table, tearing the box apart.  A black book.  Some one had sent him a black book.  Opening to the first page, he scanned to the bottom.

            _"This book belongs to: Trowa Barton."_

            "Trowa?"

--

            Trowa trudged up the stairs of the trailer, the smell of a hard day clinging to his skin.  He opened the door and headed straight for the shower, wishing to wash away everything, especially the things he couldn't.  After what seemed like forever, he finally slid out of the shower, adorning himself in boxers and a t-shirt, and then graced the empty bedroom with his presence.

            His hand tightened its grip on the clown mask in his hand, the one that he always wore whether he liked it or not.  He liked placing it at the side of his bed, allowing it to mock him every morning when he awoke.  Filling his sense of worthlessness to the brim.

            He noticed the curtains flailing as the open window sent a burst of cold air into the room.  Trowa tiptoed through the pitch-black room to the illuminated frame, ceasing the burst of air.  The curtains rested down on Trowa's hands.

            A sudden "thud" caused Trowa to turn around abruptly, his breath hitching in his throat.  In the illumination of the window, he could see the small black book at his feet.  His grip on the mask tightened again.

            "Trowa…" Heero's darkened face appeared in the light.  His deep blue eyes shot out from the darkness.

            Trowa's lip quivered slightly, the words clinging to the edge of his throat, refusing to leave.  Heero stepped closer, his arms reached out as if he were a small child begging to be picked up.  Heero's own quivering was obvious, giving him this unsure look to him.

            Their bodies met, allowing Heero to wrap his arms around the boy's torso, cling tightly to the fabric of his t-shirt.  Trowa watched in awe as the smaller boy hid his face against Trowa's chest, almost nuzzling as close as could be.

            Slowly, Trowa wrapped his own arms around Heero, gently nudging his face against the unruly brown locks.  Heero, feeling the slow yet sure reaction of the other boy revealed his head from it's hiding place, standing nose to nose with him.

            "Heero, I…" the words managed to flow slowly from his mouth.

            Heero stopped them abruptly, enclosing his warm lips over each and every other word.  "You don't need to speak.  You've told me everything I want to hear already."  He gave the slightly dazed Trowa another kiss.  "I… love you, too, Trowa."


End file.
